


Tea

by More11a



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jim and Sherlock are having tea, No Plot/Plotless, Psychology, Suspense, what it says on the tin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2652740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More11a/pseuds/More11a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You drip a tiny amount of milk into your tea and watch as it blooms, unfolds, until it shatters when you run your spoon through it in a circular motion, wincing inwardly at the amount of sugar that a certain consulting detective takes in his tea and the way he keeps looking at you as if he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea

You drip a tiny amount of milk into your tea and watch as it blooms, unfolds, until it shatters when you run your spoon through it in a circular motion, wincing inwardly at the amount of sugar that a certain consulting detective takes in his tea and the way he keeps looking at you as if he knows. 

He thinks he is such a genius. He thinks he knows how vast your mind is, and how cold it gets up there in that little head of yours. He thinks he knows suffering. The sensory overload he experiences is nothing compared to the powers it takes to be a psychopath. 

It’s not your first cup. It’s not his first, either, you notice from the way his little finger gives the tiniest of shakes thanks to caffeine. 

You can sit here and drink tea all night until one of you has a heart attack, until one of you buckles, until one of you drops. But it won’t come to that. Something _will_ happen, and you like to think that things happen when you’re around. About the nature of those things, one could argue. 

“Alright, what are we doing this for?” The pupils of his seaweed eyes are pinpricks and that stony face is so different from your own. Sometimes, when there’s nothing else to do, you watch your own face in the mirror for hours. Not because you’re so attractive – which you are, if anyone were to ask you – but because you rule the world. The world just doesn’t know it yet. 

“Well… you’re the one who came to me for help”, you say. (He did. He didn’t come crawling though, not begging, not sobbing, and you intend to change that before long.)  
There’s nothing like having a mad tea party with your arch enemy. 

You win this one. Because he might be an asshole, but you are not afraid. To kill, to burn, to die. Life and death, love and hate – all the little things tend to lose their importance. 

“Jim” you say, just to revel in the confusion it creates. The silence stretches.  
“Why don’t you call me Jim”, you add. “After all, it seems we’re in this for the long run.”  



End file.
